


Blue is a sign of defeat.

by steamy_pancakes



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Don't read this if you're sensitive to cursing, Eating Disorders, Heavy Angst, I'm…. so sorry., If having someone tell you that you're not good enough is a trigger, My own fic made me cry., Or being yelled at, Or crying, Self Harm, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, This fic has:, This is the worst., and references:, this might be triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9890795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steamy_pancakes/pseuds/steamy_pancakes
Summary: Tyler is not okay. Tyler is never okay. Josh is tired of Tyler never being okay.





	

“Honestly? You have nothing to say?”

No. No, Tyler wanted to _scream_. But he couldn’t. His worst fear was standing over him, backing him into a corner.

“For fuck’s sake, Tyler. God damn. You’re so fucking pathetic.”

Why can’t he talk? He wants to. He wants to apologize. Would it help?

“Are you stupid?”

No.

“What the fuck is wrong with you.”

I-

“Please… Josh.”

It came out as a whimper. It was supposed to be strong.

“Oh, so now you talk. I’m ready to walk out of the fucking door and never look back and all you can say is please.”

No. Why can’t Tyler scream. His heart is in his throat. He can feel his pulse through his entire body. Why won’t it stop. Why won’t his pulse stop?

“Whatever, Tyler. I thought you were better than this. I guess not. You ask me if I think the fans will ever stop coming to shows. You ask me if they’ll get tired of you. You ask me if _I’ll_ get tired of you. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Yes, they’ll stop coming. Yes, they’ll get tired of you. Yes, I’m tired of you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Maybe, Tyler thinks, if I scratch my wrist hard enough my vein will pop.

“Honestly, Tyler. You can’t say one fucking thing.”

Josh turned around and paced the floor in front of Tyler.

Tyler slides down the wall and sits, silent. Digging his short nails into his wrist. Silent.

“What now?”

Josh sighed. Finally. He was tired of talking to a wall. Tired of repeating the same reassurances every single day. Tired of comforting a man who could never get better.

He looked at the man. Watched him dig his short nails into his wrist. Wonders if it’s satisfying that itch. Wonders why he still cares. Wonders what Tyler would do if Josh grabbed his hands right now and looked into his eyes and…

No.

No, Josh. It’s been long enough.

Making sure Tyler stays alive is what’s killing Josh.

“What now,” Tyler asks again.

Josh didn’t realize how long it had been.

“I don’t know, Tyler.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry. You’re always sorry. You’re always sorry when I find you in the bunks covered in tears and snot and blood. You’re sorry when you have panic attacks halfway through the show and I have to stall. You’re sorry when you can’t sleep alone so you make me hold you until you cry yourself to sleep. You’re always sorry, but never enough to get help.”

“I tried, I-“

“Shut the fuck up, Tyler. I’m tired of excuses. Seeing a psychologist once and then never going back because they apparently ‘don’t understand you’ is not getting help. Taking your meds too much or not enough is not getting help. Starving yourself is not getting help.”

Josh must’ve struck a nerve, because Tyler is back to silence.

“Stop pretending like you don’t like this. You love the attention. You love the feeling you get when fans ask you why you’re so gaunt lately. You _love_ it when you lock yourself in the bunks all day and Mark has to send me in to make sure you’re still alive. You love it. Somehow I’m only one who sees through that.”

Tears. Tyler can’t talk but he can cry. He digs his short nails into his wrist even harder. The skin had started to scratch away and his red wrist matched his red face.

Red wrist. Red face. Red.

Never wear blue. Blue is a sign of defeat. What does that make red?

“Tyler, stop. Please.”

Josh sounded tired. Was that Tyler’s fault, too?

“Just say something, Tyler, fuck.”

Tyler can’t breathe. Josh’s words are sitting on his chest.

Breathe anyway. Breathe anyway.

Images of Josh slamming the door behind him without a glance back.

Images of Josh’s twitter, “Sorry frens. Sometimes Blurryface wins. Keep fighting yours, stay alive. |-/.”

Images of texts not going through.

“Josh.”

_Not delivered._

“Josh, please.”

_Not delivered._

Images of hospitals. Monitors. I’m sorry ma’am, and we’ve done everything we could, and it’s time to let go.

Breathe.

“Josh.”

Okay, that’s a start.

“Josh I’m sorry.”

Josh rolled his eyes. Josh immediately felt guilty when Tyler saw him.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“Josh I’m sorry. Please. Let me make this better.”

Scoff.

“Josh, I will. Josh, please believe me. I’m trying my best.”

“What happens when your best isn’t good enough, huh? What then, Tyler? You’re going to kill yourself and leave me to pick up the pieces? That’s what friends do, right? I waste almost a decade of my life putting you back together and watching you fall apart and putting you back together and watching you fall apart, only for you to shatter completely. What am I supposed to do then?”

“Josh.”

“What.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck off, Tyler. Stop fucking apologizing. I’m so tired of hearing you tell me that you’re sorry.”

“I’m-…" 

Come on Tyler, you can do this.

“Okay. Please don’t leave.”

“Keep talking.”

“Okay. I, uh. I… I…”

Tyler couldn’t hold it in any more. How hard do you have to dig into your arm until you bleed out?

Hyperventilating. Rocking back and forth. Shaking. This is the part where Josh would find him and hold him. Tell him that it’s okay. Tell him that he loves him.

But it’s _not_ okay. Josh _doesn’t_ love him. Josh is standing in front of him, watching him indifferently.

It’s no use.

“Fine. Leave. Walk away.”

Josh sat down. He watched Tyler with the same uninvolved face.

Tyler was falling apart.

Wrists red, face red, eyes red, everything wet with tears, everything frayed.

As suddenly as it began, it stopped.

At least he has the decency to look embarrassed, Josh thought.

“Okay. Now talk to me, Ty.”

“Josh, I love you. I love you. I love you, Josh. I love you.”

He looked up through his eyelashes and paused, Josh knew he needed to hear him say it back.

“No, Tyler.”

The shudder that rocked through Tyler’s frail body almost knocked him over.

“Josh, I love you. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll take my meds. I’ll see someone regularly. I’ll stop… I’ll…”

“Say it, Tyler.”

“I’ll give you my box. It’s got everything in it. Y-you know. _Everything_.”

Josh knew. That box and its contents still gave him nightmares.

“What else, Tyler.”

“I’ll eat. Three meals a day. Four if you want Taco Bell.”

Even at his worst, he knew how to make Josh smile.

“It doesn’t count if you’re faking improvement just to keep me around.”

“No. I’m not. I want to get better. Josh, please believe me. Please, Josh.”

It was Josh’s turn to sit in silence.

“Josh, please. I love you. Josh.”

Silence.

“Josh, please. Josh. Please, Josh.”

Tyler started to cry again.

“Please, Josh. Please.”

His crying turned into begging.

“Josh, please. Josh. JOSH.”

Begging into screaming.

Josh stood up, put his hands in his pockets. He was uncomfortable. 

“See ya around, Ty.”

 

* * *

 

 

Blue is a sign of defeat. What does that make red?

Red is a sign of surrender.


End file.
